Fragments

The glass shattered. It felt sudden, like everything gave way at once. Pieces were everywhere. Some so small they were almost insignificant, others so large they could be used as a weapon.

Where do you even begin when the mess is this large? I looked around, searching for something, anything that might help me start. I didn’t know where to begin, or if I even had what I needed to clean it up.

I sat down among the shards and pulled my knees up to my chest, hugging my legs to keep my balance. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the fragments scattered around me. I slowly lowered my head. It was all too much to bear.

My breath was shallow. Every now and then I took in a gasp of air, as if reminding my lungs what they were meant to do. I felt myself rocking back and forth. When did it get so hard, so unmanageable? The façade I had worn was stripped away, the barrier that once protected me now gone. I looked up, making sure I was alone, that no one was coming. Then I lowered my head again. I was safe, even in the middle of the mess, because I was alone.

No… that wasn’t right. We weren’t created to be alone.

Yet I had no idea how to reach out, or who I would even call. I didn’t want to interrupt someone’s day. I didn’t want to be a nuisance, to show up with needs I wasn’t sure anyone wanted to carry.

I don’t know how long I sat there, turning the thought over and over in my mind. Maybe I should call someone. This is too much to handle alone…

But what if no one came?

The thought settled in quietly, and I let it. It was easier to stay where I was than to risk reaching out and finding there was no one on the other end.

I looked up and placed my hands on the ground to steady myself as I stretched out my legs. I decided I was going to reach out, to ask someone for help.

Then a sharp flash of pain shot through my hands.

I looked down. Blood was dripping from my palms, small and large shards of glass embedded in them. It pooled slowly, running over my hands, onto my legs, and the ground around me.

I forgot about reaching out. My focus shifted completely to what was happening in my hands, and to the loss of what had once protected me.

I lowered my head and began pulling the glass from my palms. Tears slipped quietly down my cheeks.

There was so much glass. So much pain. So much blood.

Then I felt it, a hand resting gently on my back.

The comfort came before the understanding. I wasn’t alone.

I knew who it was. The One who loves me had come near. He was there.

And then another hand. And another.

I couldn’t see through the tears of relief. I wasn’t alone. He was there, and He had brought others.

Someone gently took one of my hands. Another hovered near the other, hesitant, as if asking without words if I would pull away or allow it.

I didn’t pull away.

I surrendered to the comfort that was settling around me. They began the slow, careful work of pulling the glass from my hands.

With each piece removed, relief followed, quiet and steady. The pain began to ease, the bleeding to slow.

But more than anything, I knew I was not alone in it.

Once they had taken care of my hands, they helped me to my feet.

They began to sweep up the glass. Together. No one said a word.

The fragments were fully exposed, scattered in every direction, yet no one recoiled. No one turned away. They stepped into the mess with me.

One moved slowly, carefully gathering the smaller pieces, tears falling quietly as they worked. The other focused on the larger shards, steady and deliberate, each movement purposeful.

I stood there watching, unsure how to help, too overwhelmed by their care to even move.

When they were done, we sat down quietly.

I looked around and realized I was seeing things more clearly than before. The masks I once carried were gone. There was a peace within me I hadn’t known before, and my breathing had steadied.

Once again, I felt hands on my back. One leaned gently against me, their head resting on my shoulder. The hesitation that once kept distance between us was gone. Their presence felt natural, unforced.

We sat there for a while. No one spoke.

I was at peace, not because everything was whole again, but because I was no longer alone in it.

And for the first time, I allowed myself to be seen… and to be loved.